


Lady...Things...

by Queenbookworm13



Series: Currently Unnamed SHIELDhusbands series. Suggestions are appreciated and welcomed. [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Adoption, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Clint and Phil's reactions to their little girl growing up, Clint owes Natasha, Domestic, Family, M/M, Post Avengers (Movie), Puberty, SHIELD Husbands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenbookworm13/pseuds/Queenbookworm13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcy's almost technically a full teenager. It was bad enough that Clint had to suffer through the awkward ritual of bra shopping with his little girl, but there are a few more things he and Phil forgot females go through that males don't have to worry about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady...Things...

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own.  
> Please enjoy the fic.

“PAPA! DADDY!” Marcy shouted from the bathroom.

Clint ran toward the bathroom and knocked on the door. “Marcy?” It had been a couple of months since they had met Andrew, who had become quit the regular guest on Friday evenings, and whatever force that worked the universe had better help the boy if he had caused his little girl any emotional or physical harm to make her sound so distressed.

“Papa!” she was crying. He hated when she cried, it reminded him of when he first found her. Alone, scared, so young, covered in blood, clutching her dead mother’s hand as though she hadn’t even noticed her spirit leave the earth. It was a wound he’d hold close to his heart forever and it hurt him far greater than anything he’d ever had to endure.

“Marcy? Marcy what’s wrong?” he knocked on the door breathless with anxiety. “Can I come in?”

“No! No don’t!”

“What is it baby doll?”

“I-I don’t know!”

He paused for a second confused. “Well…are you hurt?”

“I don’t k-know!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” There was no answer accept for her sobs of panicked terror. He pressed his face against the wooden surface. “I can’t help you from out here; you have to let me come in.”

“NO!”

He sighed frustrated and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you want me to get daddy?”

“No!” she choked and sniffled loudly.

“Marcy just let me come in, okay? Whatever it is I can help. I promise.”

It took her a while before she answered with a small, “okay.”

He quickly opened the door and found her sitting on the bathroom floor up against the tub with her arms hugging knees to her chest. There was her thick shower towel wrapped around her body and another one between her legs. He scanned the area and found several tissues and a wash cloth with red all over them.

She looked up at him with puffy miserable eyes. “I’m dying!” she sobbed and held a hand to her wet forehead. “My life is over!”

Clint stared down at her as his mind began working over what could be wrong. Had she fallen? Was it her head? Did she cut herself shaving? “Where are you hurt?” he tried calmly as he moved toward her slowly.

Marcy flinched away and shook her head holding up her hands. “Stop! I don’t…I don’t want to talk about it.”

Barton looked around at the evidence again and then it hit him. It hit like a piano falling from the roof of the building. “Oh…oh. Oh! OH!” he slapped his hand to his forehead. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner! They had just taken her bra shopping a several months ago.

“Papa?” she sniffed confused.

“Stay right here. Don’t move; I know what’s up.” He said backing up out of the room slowly, his hands out as though he were trying to sweet talk a tiger into not eating him. “I’m going to call Aunt Tasha, she’s a girl. This is her area. I love you, I’ll be right back.” He blew her a kiss and then ran toward the living room to get the phone.

“What is it?” Phil asked as he finished changing Sebastian into his day clothes.

“Marcy’s bleeding,” he hit speed dial and waited for Nat to pick up.

“She’s what!?”

“Calm yourself,” he held up his hand and heard her pick up. “Hey Nat.”

“What’s wrong?” she sighed.

“What kind of a greeting is that?”

“You never call unless you want something. What is it?”

“Oh well I’m glad we’re such great friends. It was nice talking with you, by the way, Marcy’s bleeding. Bye.”

“She’s what!?” she shouted. “CLINT! Don’t hang up! I’ll kill –”

“Alright, relax. Now that I have your enthusiastic attention, Marcy’s bleeding.”

“Bleeding? How? Is she alright?”

“I…well I don’t know,” he said and shrugged. “I’m not a lady and these are lady bleeding things.”

Natasha was silent for a second. “Are you trying to tell me she started her period?”

“Yep,” Clint hissed and made a face. “That thing! That lady thing that we male penis wielding folk have no knowledge of.”

“Why are you calling to tell me about this? Oh no!” she groaned. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you’re one of _those_ parents and you’re going to throw her a dreadful party!”

“Ew! No! That’s weird! I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind popping over. She’s hysterical and other hormonal things and she won’t let me near her. I thought it would be better if she had another female calm her down and explain that it’s normal. She thinks she’s dying.”

Natasha sighed, it was an acceptance one. The one she used when she knew he was right. It was rare, but it was always good to hear it, regardless of the situation. “Where is she?”

“The bathroom.”

“Pad or tampon?”

“What?”

“Which would you prefer she used? Pads or tampons?”

“She’s a child! PAD! Pads forever!”

“Okay, I’ll be right over. Try and keep her calm while I’m on the way.”

“Would you mind picking up a chastity belt while you’re at it?”

Her next sigh was tired and frustrated. “Get out the chocolate ice cream and two spoons!”

“Thanks Nat.”

“You owe me.”

“I’ll have Phil bake you a pie.” He hung up and turned to said other who was frozen with a look of surprised horror on his face.

“I’d forgotten they do that,” he confessed softly.

“Yeah, me too,”

Their little girl was a little lady now. That slow painful heart attack feeling crept back into his chest. Get out the ice cream and two spoons! Fuck he was going to sit there and eat some of that ice cream! Being a parent was killing him!

Natasha showed up with two bags, one full of pad boxes, the other full of chocolate, vitamins, a notebook, and ibuprofen. “Which bathroom?”

“This one,” Phil said and led her to the one nearest the kid’s bedrooms.

Clint was sitting just outside the door with his legs crossed and his head in his hands, the ice cream container out in front of him with three spoons on the top. “Marcy I honestly don’t know. It’s a nature thing. Is your aunt here yet?”

“I am, move,” she nudged his side and stepped over him. “Hey beautiful!” she smiled at her and set her gear down. “Mind if we chat?”

“Am I in trouble?” she sniffed.

“Oh honey no!” she assured and turned, snatching up the spoons and ice cream. She tossed one down to Clint, “Girl time! OUT!”

“Wait!” The door shut and he sat there stunned for a moment.

“Clint, come away from the door,” said Phil quietly.

“She’s our daughter!”

“And we’re both men who have just about as much information about these things as she does.” He held out his hand, “come on, I’ll let you hold Bas.”

“I don’t want too,” he pouted and glared down at the spoon in between his legs.

Phil heaved a sigh and bent down, gently shoving the little one in his husband’s lap. “I’m going to lay down then. Watch him and try not to make matters worse.”

“Phil!” he whined as he held Bas back out toward him. “Don’t baby pressure-guilt me!

“I’ll be in our room,” he waved a hand behind him and headed off.

Clint looked unhappily at their son. “I blame you for my problems,” he said. Bas just put a hand on his nose, a curious look on his face as though he were trying to either sympathise with him or had just made up a new game.

 ------=------

It was an hour before Natasha came into their bedroom. Clint had taken the kid and went to lie down for nap time. Phil and him were spooning with Bas tucked into a baby pillow right next to them. There was an almost empty babybottle clutched in the hand Clint had resting near the blue soft memory foam u-shaped device.

She knocked on the opened door, startling the two of them. “Sorry, but I thought you ought to know she ran away and joined the circus.”

“The fuck she did!” Clint groaned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Phil slapped his back as he rolled over and sat up at the edge of the bed. “Don’t wake the baby,” he yawned and then hit him again, “and stop swearing.”

“Is she –”

“She’s fine,” she cut in.

Clint nodded and laid back down clearing his throat and asked softly. “Great…so what do we owe you?”

“I’ll think about it. Right now you both need to go in there and comfort her. I’ll watch Bas.”

Clint felt as though he were on a top secret mission as he walked down the hall. A Level 13 with a guaranteed 95% chance of not surviving. But his baby girl was in there, and he could still hear her sniffing, and it was tearing him to pieces. This was just one of those things people had warned him about that he wouldn’t be able to fix. He never thought he’d find a day were something stood in the way of his daughter’s happiness. He was powerless against the natural order of the world and it kind of really pissed him off.

“Papa? Daddy?” she sniffed and blew her nose as they stood in the door way. Natasha had gotten her into a robe and cleaned up the bathroom. She had a towel in her hair and was sitting near the tub with the ice cream still in front of her.

“Hey honey,” Phil said coming in first. “Mind if we sit with you?”

She shook her head and scooted a bit to give him some room. He sat down beside her and Clint took up the empty space on the other side. Phil wrapped and arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, giving her a big kiss against her temple.

“I’d ask ‘what’s wrong with me’ but Aunt Tasha already explained everything.”

“Everything?” Clint panicked suddenly.

“Yes, with…this stuff and why and…babies and stuff,” sniffing she fiddled with a new tissue in her hand and then threw it at Barton. “I hate you.”

“Why?” Phil asked concerned. “We’re honestly sorry. We’ve both never been in committed relationships with females before, we completely forgot this –”

“No, that’s not the reason. I hate you because you both lied to me. You told me babies come from rescue missions.”

Phil looked up and glared at Clint. “Oh did _we_?”

“Well, I mean papa did. You said they came from the hospital, so I just assumed test-tubes.” She rubbed at her face, her features scrunching up and she gave a great sob. “I feel so stupid. I should have known none of that was true.”

“No pumpkin,” Phil soothed, pulling her into a hug. “Don’t feel stupid. A lot of parents tell their children funny stories until they are a little bit older. We should have trusted you with the truth a while ago.”

Marcy was quiet for a few minutes before she gently hit Clint’s knee with the back of her hand. “Hey, you can finish the ice cream if you want.”

He shook his head and hugged her from the other side. “I’m not here for ice cream. I’m here for you, rock star.”

She tensed for a moment and then relaxed a bit as her body did its horrible natural thing. “I’m never going to get used to this am I?”

“I gave my uterus up several years ago, so –” Clint began and then gave a small, “ouch,” when two sets of hands came out to slap his shoulder or legs. Phil’s was the warning kind, the ‘shut up this is no time to make one of your stupid jokes’, while Marcy’s was a ‘stuff it papa, I’m a hormonal angry pre-teen and I’m not in the mood’. He apologised.

“Aunt Tasha said it was only going to get worse from here…”

“It might, and it might not,” Phil promised carefully. “Everyone is different. We can only hope for the best.”

  ------=------

‘The best’ wasn’t the greatest fried they had, and indeed it did not grant them the wishes they desired. Marcy was a wreck for the rest of the week. She was tired and irritable beyond belief. She’d snap at one of them suddenly and then go running off afterward crying hysterically that she was a bad person and that she was forever sorry.

Clint was in the kitchen washing dishes, one of those moody days, while she was making a sandwich. She dropped the knife and fell to the floor sobbing uncontrollably.

“Baby girl, it’s just a knife, its fine,” Clint tried, rubbing her shoulders soothingly.

“I’m such a klutz! I don’t deserve to eat with silverware if I can’t use it correctly!”

“Now that’s crazy talk. I –”

But that had been the wrong thing to say. She pushed his arm away and stormed out of the kitchen to her room and refused to leave it. She even locked the door, a thing she’d never done before. It was alarming and unsettling and Clint felt as though he were being punished for something he’d done, but hadn’t a clue as to what it was or how to fix it. He even went out on the roof and yelled at the sky for a bit.

“Feel any better?” Phil asked sitting in his chair, hands busy knitting away at a tiny sock, on foot on the side of a small baby carrier to push it gently back and forth.

“No!” he snapped.

“Try shooting something then?”

“The only thing I want to shoot is that fucking bitch ‘flo’, and I can’t! She’s not real!”

“Clint you’re being a little over dramatic over somethi–”

“Over dramatic!?”

“Yes, now calm down and sit.” Clint didn’t do the first but the latter, and glared angrily at Phil. “Alright now take a deep breath.” Clint did. “We need to relax and keep a cool head. If we panic then it’s only going to make things more stressful for her. This is something she’s going to have to deal with for almost her whole life. This isn’t once a year either, it’s once a month.”

“Oh my god I forgot!” he said falling to the side with his hands over his face.

Phil smirked and finished off the heel of the sock, setting the project and his tools off to the side before getting up and going to the couch. He nudged Clint, “hey, scooch,”

“No,” he grumbled and turned on his side giving the agent some room regardless.

Coulson shook his head and snuggled up behind him, holding him close. “It’ll be fine. We’ve gone through a lot worse.”

“Have we? Because she just cried over a knife a few minutes ago and I swore I saw her trying to bury a piece of lettuce she dropped on the floor the other day.”

“Okay drama queen,” Phil rolled his eyes with a small laugh. “Did you attend the wake? Was it nice?”

“Oh yeah,” he sassed back. “The food was great but the company was kind of dead.”

Phil smacked his shoulder as punishment for the poor joke, yet couldn’t keep his laugh down. “You’re so stupid.”

“But I’m yours,” he snickered.

“Shame there is no return policy.”

“Would you really return me? Honestly?”

“Some days…” he sighed.

Clint was silent for a moment. “Was it the dead joke today or the banana joke yesterday?”

“It’s been several jokes and comments over the years, but I suffer through. One day there will be one well-placed joke again and everyone will rejoice.”

“Being a parent has thrown off my game,”

“You had game?”

“How do you think I managed to get you?”

“Honestly it was your choice in food and books.”

“Damn, and here I was hoping I caught you attention with my charming great humour and fantastic chiselled body.”

“I wouldn’t say chiselled, but yes you do keep in shape. Round looks very nice on you.”

“Hey!”

Phil laughed and kissed his cheek. “Would you like me to make it up to you? I can make cookies?”

“You burn me and then pour hot water over the wound and expect me to take your apology cookies…” he shook his head slowly and tisked.

“The chocolate might help placate some of Marcy’s wrath for the day.”

“I’m up!” Clint sat upright and starting climbing over the back of the couch, Phil’s hands still wrapped around him. “Quick! To the kitchen! My kingdom may be saved yet!”

  ------=------

The cookies had worked nicely and the rage she held inside of her subsided. Everything was back to normal and Clint had completely forgotten about it all until he came home to his little girl lying in the middle of the hallway floor sobbing.

“Oh hell,” he hissed setting the bags of groceries down before taking off his work bag and went to her. “Marcy what’s wrong?”

“MY LIFE IS OVER!” she cried into the carpet.

He froze as the familiar words settled in and then began counting. It was right to the day when he had been called to the bathroom. Shit. “I’m going to make some cookies,” he said quickly and hurried to the kitchen.


End file.
